


Chamomile Tea

by fragile_thoughts



Series: Chamomile [3]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Body Worship, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 03:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15765420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragile_thoughts/pseuds/fragile_thoughts
Summary: “Finally,” he growls, and the predatory edge to his voice causes a shiver only partly induced by fear to travel down her spine.





	Chamomile Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back and I apologize for the wait! Moving back to America from Japan was a crazy process and I lost my inspiration for a while, but I'm ready to write again. 
> 
> This is the start of my last work for the Chamomile series. Enjoy <3

She doesn't resist his kisses anymore, and when she comes into his room every evening to wish him goodnight, she stays at his demand.

Greta doesn't mind too much, rather, she’s gotten used to his heat and the way he presses himself into every crevice of her body that he can reach. Sometimes, when she’s drifting in and out of dreams, she’s aware of him mumbling unintelligible things into her hair or mouthing longingly at her ear.

As time ebbs on, she chooses not to complain about it.

When she gets up in the morning to wash her face, she’s always greeted to the mysterious sight of blossoming bruises and deep teeth marks on her neck when she looks up.

She doesn't seethe about it like she used to.

Instead, she finds herself staring into the mirror, a shameful flush coloring her cheeks and a strange heat stirring within her.

She doesn't really know what to think anymore, so she tries her best not to think at all, especially not about the strangely domestic routine they've fallen into, something that really should frighten her.

Seeing Brahms with soap on his fingers as he helps with the dishes or feeling his rough hands wrapped gingerly around her waist as she reads to him is something she never could’ve imagined happening after their first night together. 

But it does, and Greta finds that she’s not as afraid as she used to be. 

She’s not entirely sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough to where there are some days when she forgets to think about Malcolm. But when she does, it fills her with a guilty sort of melancholy, as if she’s thinking of an old childhood friend who she doesn't keep in contact with anymore.

Poor Malcolm. 

He had only wanted to help and now… she’s not even sure where Brahms has him stuffed away. She’s sure that he’s alive though; she knows from the food that keeps disappearing and the muffled thumps she hears periodically, noises that couldn't be Brahms because he still chooses to move silently in and around the house. 

Their life continues in this slow, mundane fashion until one afternoon, when she’s staring out the kitchen window and absentmindedly stirring sugar into her chamomile tea, she makes a decision. 

Greta pauses for a full minute, running the idea through her head, before she sets the teaspoon on the counter with a clink. With shaking fingers, she picks up her cup and takes a sip, but has to put it back down again before she drops it. 

She bites her lip and clicks her fingernails against the counter nervously before glancing around to make sure she’s alone – as alone as she can be when she feels eyes around her at all times.  


“What am I thinking? This is crazy,” she murmurs, before shaking her head and pushing her mug to the side. “I’m not giving in. I can’t.”

A few minutes later, she slips into the bedroom she hardly uses anymore, opens her closet and discovers, with hardly any surprise, her coral dress hanging neatly as if it had always been there.

She hesitates only a moment before slipping it on.


End file.
